Phoenix Rising
by alexi.grace.hoff
Summary: What happens to a girl when she is born in a time of fear and prejudice? When she has the ability to create flames as hot as any in hell with a simple thought, ones that burn golden like the sun and azure like the ocean? What happens when she loses control and destroys the village she has lived in her entire life? And what about when an opportunistic Angel follows the cloud of ash?
1. Loss

There was a girl, no more than fourteen years old. She wore a simple blue sundress, no shoes, and around her neck was a delicate silver chain with a tiny amber pendant in the shape of a flame on it. Her eyes were larger than most people's, and were an odd, clear silver shade in the iris. Her eyelashes were long, dark, and thick, and she blinked them down and up on autopilot. Her mouth, edged with pretty pink cupid's bow lips, was partially open and small rushes of air sank in and out as she inhaled and exhaled reflexively. Her hair was chin-length, a chestnut-brown that had the potential to gleam golden-red if it had been clean...

But it wasn't. None of her was.

Her dress was torn, ragged, and filthy; her bare feet callused and stained; her hair caked with dust and debris; her eyes dazed sightlessly as she stared off into the distance and her luxurious eyelashes layered with dark grey powder.

Ash rained down like thick, oppressive flakes of smoky snow.

Around her a small town was in ruins; buildings were mere shells of their former states, burnt-black bones and fragments of clothing covering them were strewn all over the place, and the ground was blanketed in at least six solid inches of cinder and slag.

And at her rough-edged fingernail tips golden-azure flames flickered in and out of existence.

She hadn't _meant_ for this to happen, _really_.

But... the boys had insulted her. Again. Called her 'freak' and 'orphan' and 'fire-starter' and even 'demon'. And the adults never helped, never stepped in; they only watched with cold, hateful eyes nearby and said 'Let the arsonist bitch have it.'

Being treated like that _every single day_, again and again and again- it had been too much, and she had lost control. Maybe, she mused as she idly cocked her head to the side, they had deserved it? After all, _they_ had been the ones to ostracize her, call her names, beat her and break her and treat her like a _monster_. Right? It wasn't _her_ fault she had been born with the ability to control and create fire hotter than any furnace. Of course it wasn't theirs either, but they didn't have to be so _cruel_ about it did they? But humans were _fickle_, she knew, and _hateful_ and _angry_ and oh, _oh_ so _jealous_ and _fearful_ of what they couldn't ever even _hope _to harness to their own will.

She blinked again, and her small pink tongue darted out to wet her dry lips, accidentally taking in a small lump of ash.

It tasted of fire and wood and, strangely enough, _pain_. Could pain have a taste? If it did, this was it, she thought.

When wind fluttered and feathers rustled and the ash shifted, parting for a new set of feet, she didn't react, being too busy in her own thoughts.

Flames danced harmlessly over the skin of her right hand as she raised her palm upwards so she could see it, the ones on her left hand mingling when she connected them in a cup-like position. The fire acted like it was in a bowl, swirling and twisting and flickering outward but never quite jumping away. "What am I?" she asked softly to the air. "To attract such hate and disgust?"

The ash continued falling from the sky in the hushed silence, and when the chalky powder came in contact with the flames curling and harmlessly burning on her hands it melted away into nothing.

She blinked in mute surprise when a gentle hand brushed the soot off of her hair and patted it off of her shoulders. The stranger's footsteps were muted- almost silent- as he circled her until he came to a stop directly in front of her. She found herself staring at a grey poet-style shirt-covered chest, and slowly lifted her gaze, finding the V of the fabric and then travelling over the exposed skin of his chest, neck, jaw, cheeks, and finally meeting his gray-blue eyes that were backlit by some fleeting too-bright pale light she couldn't quite see. "Darling..." the man drawled sadly with an unfamiliar accent as he pushed a layer of ash off of his own dirty-blond hair, "You've got it _all_ wrong."

"I do?" she murmured, wondering. "But... that's all that I've ever experienced... Surely, if I hadn't done anything to warrant such treatment when I knew what I was doing, it was because of this?" she raised her flaming hands to him in explanation. "Why else would they hate me so?"

He let out a heavy sigh, and as she looked into his eyes she saw sympathy and something like pain. "Love, mud monkeys- humans to you- hate what they don't understand, yes?"

She nodded slowly in acknowledgement of his point.

"They didn't _understand_. If they had they wouldn't have _dared_ do any of what I suspect they did. You have a _gift_, one that should be treasured." He raised his arms and she instinctually flinched, but didn't back away when his warm, rough palms carefully wrapped around her hands. Her eyes went wide, shocked, and she looked down to where he was _holding her hands._ She expected to see- well, she didn't _know_ what she expected to see, but whatever it was it certainly wasn't her mixed-color golden-azure flames caressing the man's tanned skin like they were welcoming an old friend and not harming him at all.

"...How?!" she let out in a breathless gasp, eyes locked on where she were linked. She had _seen_ what her fire had done to the residents of her 'home' village; when they had touched the residents they had _seared_ the flesh- muscles, skin, tendons and all- off of the bones until all that was left were charred white/black sticks.

She looked up again when he chuckled lowly and let her go. "I'm not human, darling," his eyes gleamed with that something _other_, and she desperately searched them for answers she didn't find.

Her curved, defined chestnut eyebrows furrowed slightly. "You're... not?" she asked. "But then what are you? What else could you be?"

The stranger's lips curved into a smirk, and he leaned forward, raising one hand further to carefully cup her cheek.

Her eyes left his as the air _split_, the ash being thrust forward and backward and to each side as it was forcefully pushed away from materializing structures.

Huge, _grand_ cream wings with pale periwinkle edging and darker shading near the bases burst out of his back, arching in a steep curve around them and blocking the still-falling remaings of the town. They rustled, shimmered, and looked like they would be satin-soft. "My name is Balthazar," the newly-named man told her quietly but solemnly, and his soft words held a weight she couldn't describe. "Angel of the Lord, formerly Treasurer of the Armory. What, little human girl, is your name?"

She blinked, and cast her eyes around, looking at the long, graceful, silken feathers with awe. They were _beautiful_. "...My name?" she murmured after a moment, finally catching his question. "My mother named me Nefas, for what I was to her."

The angel's light eyes darkened in something akin to anger, only it was much, much stronger, and _eons_ older. "Do you like that name?" he asked with what sounded like forced calm.

She cocked her head to the side, and blinked up at him slowly in bewilderment. "...Do I _like_ it?" she mused, surprised. "...I don't _think_ I do, but it's all I've ever been..." she looked up to him suddenly, breaking his hold on her jaw, and pulled her lower lip into her mouth for a moment to bite at it nervously a few times before letting it go. "Will you give me a better one? A new name?"

Balthazar raised his eyebrows at her, but in his eyes something... maybe satisfaction... flashed. "I suppose I could," he ceded. "Very well, darling. Your new name will be... Gemma. What do you think about that?"

Gemma smiled up at him, and nodded slightly. "I like it," she replied, and her voice trembled a bit. No one had ever given her anything- well, except for her pendant that a traveling peddler had thought 'matched' her- at all, and now this- this _Angel_ just out of the blue gives her an entirely new identity? She fell forward and, for the first time in her life, initiated physical contact by way of wrapping her thin, malnourished arms around Balthazar and hugging him- or his upper waist, as the case may be; she was rather unfortunately short- as tightly as she could. _"Thank you, Balthazar,"_ she murmured earnestly, and after a moment of tense silence the angel hummed and rested his own arms loosely across the back of her shoulders.

"You're welcome, darling. Now, I have an offer to make of you..."


	2. Discovery

**AN: It came to my attention I did not put a disclaimer in the first chapter. I apologize; I'm used to just writing on my computer and not bothering to put it in until I have to post the document. So here it is:**

**I don't own Supernatural.**

**300 Years Later, Stanford, California**

"Of course, Balthazar," Gemma smiled into the phone. "Got it. Yes, I know not to lose my temper. I remember perfectly well what happened last time."

_"Love, you blew up a bathouse and the steam boiled the mud monkeys around it in their pasty little skins,"_ Balthazar snarked. _"Do you? We couldn't go back to that area of England for years."_

"It wasn't that much of a loss, was it?" she pouted.

_"Not at all, but the fact remains that your type of destruction is a bit harder to disguise these days. Nothing like when you were born, which we can count ourselves lucky for."_

"Very true." Gemma winced remembering the early days when the Angel had tried to teach her to control her powers- she had incinerated countless items and, to her fleeting guilt, more than a few humans she had accidentally touched in the filthy, crowded streets of the medieval era. Her pretty little flames had only been a light show compared to her full powers, though they were still deadly and rather intimidating. "You _can_ get here in seconds, though; and it isn't like this is the first time I've gone off to college, is it?"

_"Yeah."_ Balthazar's tone was curt. He understood her want for knowledge; in the time period she had been born in women were regarded as less than men- much less- and she hadn't been able to read or write, much less know anything that was common knowledge in the 1900's and the new 2000's.

Her sharp silver eyes followed the passing line of other new students, and narrowed at one blond male. "Hey, Balthy..." she crooned lowly, running her thumb along the edges of her smooth nails. "Are demons acceptable prey?"

_"Gemma..."_ he started, and then stopped. _"Most definitely. As long as the meatsuit won't be overly missed and the demon isn't Crowley. You know I like that one."_

"Thank you. Bye-bye now." She pressed the red button on the touch screen of her smartphone, and stood as she slipped it into her pocket. Gemma pulled her long ponytail around to hang down her left shoulder, and tossed a five-dollar paper bill on the little glass coffee table.

The little metal bell on the door jingled as she slipped outside into the sunlight and joined the chattering teenagers. Most of them she ignored or sneered at; she had no respect for those here on their daddy's or mommy's money, and the ones that were were obvious. At least to her, anyway; most that looked her age wouldn't notice the signs unless they were trained to from a young age. Like, she mused, looking at the confused-seeming boy that the demon was sweettalking, _him_. That one moved like predator, not prey.

Interesting.

She navigated her way through the crowd, touching the humans around her as little as possible. While she had full control over herself and her flames she still wasn't exactly fond of contact unless it was from someone she trusted (Read: Balthazar, though Crowley would occasionally pat her shoulder or back and she didn't really mind). It reminded her too much of her early years, before she burned down her town and Balthazar found her.

Gemma adjusted the straps on her backpack and flipped her wrist to check the time-

_9:37 A.M._

Everyone had to check in by eleven, or they would risk losing their rooms in the dorms to other students who wanted to switch places. "Hey," she greeted amiably as she slipped up beside the two men and held out her hand. "I couldn't help but overhear- you two are both in pre-law?" She could, actually. Help to overhear that is. But the demon was already attaching himself to this human, and Balthazar had always told her to be careful, to find out all of the details first.

The blond eyed her for a moment, before smiling widely and shaking her hand happily. "Yeah. I'm Brady, this is Sam. What's your name?"

She shook Sam's hand as well, noting the size, strength, and many calluses. "I'm Gemma," she tucked some stray copper-brown hair behind her ear, and her smile widened. "Gemma Fenix. I'm in pre-law too, and I was wondering if maybe we could keep in contact and possibly study together. I'm from England, so I don't exactly know anyone here yet." That explained her accent, and she wouldn't have to worry about 'slipping' into another European language to keep them from getting suspicious.

Sam smiled slightly, and nodded. "Yeah, that makes sense. Brady? What do you think?"

"A wonderful idea," 'Brady' clapped his hands together, and pulled out a flip phone. "What's your number?"

Gemma rattled off the digits, watching to make sure that they both typed them in right, and unlocked her own smartphone by pressing her thumb to the screen and swiping it upwards. "What about you two?" she questioned. "Numbers?"

Sam gave her his, and she quickly tapped the correct numbers in. She only had three contacts including these two- Balthazar's cell was the other, under 'Bal' in case someone took her phone and looked through them. Brady recited his number next, and she smiled up at them both- up, because after her powers had fully manifested when she burnt down the village she grew up in she had barely grown in height; her features had only slightly matured. Downsides to being immortal, she supposed. Balthazar had laughed at her numerous times when she complained.

Gemma shifted her large backpack again as she walked, unused to the weight of the many books and supplies. What would a demon want with Sam? Other than the whole fighter-vibe he gave off, he seemed normal enough.

Unless... no. Fuck. She slapped her forehead, and gave the two walking beside her a sheepish grin when they raised their eyebrows at her. "I just remembered something," she explained quickly, and pulled out her phone again, opening a new message to Balthazar and loving autocorrect, even if it was a bitch sometimes.

_Hey Balthy. Do you happen to know where the vessels are? -G_

She slid her hand back into her jeans pocket, keeping it wrapped around the smooth shell of the smartphone.

During the wait for a reply they arrived at the line to the check-in desk, and that involved standing still. Gemma was never good at that; she couldn't go more than ten seconds without at least twitching. Balthazar had said it was part of being what she was; a birdlike trait. If she had been in her true form and not restricted to her human body she would busy herself with grooming her feathers with her nicely curved beak, but she wasn't, so she couldn't.

So instead she pouted, and turned to stare up at the glorious, bright sun. Her view was unobstructed by the thin, ragged clouds drifting across the deep blue sky, and she smiled. The Sun had always brought her comfort, even if she hadn't known why at first.

Her phone buzzed, and she quickly scrolled through the reply-

_What did you get yourself into this time, love? I'm reasonably sure they're off being violent apes, like all of their ancestors were._

_Check for me. Please. -G_

There. Gemma dropped the phone into her pocket, and stepped forward to hand over the appropriate identification that had been helpfully faked by one of Balthazar's contacts. The Angel knew how to make good business associates, that was for sure. Even if he usually pissed them off rather quickly.

She smiled politely at the receptionist, and then walked back to a free area to wait for Sam and 'Brady'. Balthazar's text arrived a minute later, while she was watching Sam haggle with the lady at the desk over his papers or something. Eventually- luckily- they were apparently approved, because the barely-teen's dark hazel eyes soon landed on her where she was waiting. She waved him over, and opened the message.

_They've split up. Tell me, darling, that you haven't found yourself one. They'll bring nothing but trouble._

_Oh, I know. But I like trouble, Balthy, and Sam's already got a demon hanging around him. I, for one, don't like the sound of them getting their filthy claws into him. -G_

"Hey Sam," she said, smiling up at the freakishly tall human. He didn't seem too bad for one of the 'mud monkeys', as Balthazar called them. Though appearances could be deceiving, and Hunters had to be able to lie. She knew that there was muscle under the faded flannel, strength coiled and trained from a young age to fight and kill with or without weapons. "Hey, Brady," she greeted when the second man jogged up to them. "I'm going to go find my dorm. See you when class starts, alright?"

With that she waved goodbye, and turned on her heel.

_Lucifer's Vessel? Gemma, if that ape harms a single feather of yours I'll smite him, regardless of the attention that'll bring. I know how to cover my tracks._

_Don't be so violent, Balthy. -G_

_We could stop the problem before it even begins. You wouldn't have to put extra energy into your warding, Crowley will probably help me stop it because he doesn't want to be an Archangel's lapdog, and you know I can go blade to blade with any but the Archs. You taught me. And the damned Colt is the only thing that can kill me permanently. Which has been lost for years. -G_

_If you get yourself trapped, I won't get you out_.

_Of course you would, Balthy. Don't lie, it's very un-Angelic. But then again so is being a promiscuous clubber with a penchant for good champagne. Which you are. -G_

_Your accusations wound me, sweetheart._

That was the only reply. By the fact that she wasn't being swept away and that he wasn't protesting more, she decided her argument had been successful, and put the phone away. Her gait swung outward a bit, and she pursed her lips, exhaling a small plume of thin smoke that had accumulated in her lungs.

As she sauntered away with a smirk on her lips, she idly realized she should buy some cigarettes. They were good fuel, she didn't need a lighter to smoke them, and the tobacco tasted appealing. Pity really, all the things they put in them nowadays. It detracted from the taste.


	3. Suspicion

**Don't own it, never will. A pity; but I'm resigned to my horrid fate as simply a fan and not an actual writer...**

"Sam," Gemma said with an indulgent smile as she twirled her amber necklace- now ancient and with a new chain- around her fingers, whipping it in a blurring circle with a shimmering orange-yellow ring around the edge. "What's up?"

_"Brady's been getting a bit... too much lately,"_ her human friend told her almost reluctantly over the connection. _"I was wondering if I could come over and study a bit at your place?"_

Her smile grew. 'Brady' was a partier, and while Sam was trying to get him away from all of the drugs, it wasn't working. Even he was about ready to give up on his 'friend'. "Of course you can. You know you're pretty much my only friend here, right? Of course I'd make some time for you. Brady's okay, but we've never really gotten along."

_"I noticed,"_ he replied dryly. _"You have intense glaring matches whenever you're in the same room. Is there a reason for that? He won't tell me anything."_

"Brady's a territorial bastard," she explained frankly. "He doesn't like me because he didn't choose to let me be friends with you. You did."

_"Huh. Really?"_ Oh, Sam was confused. She could practically see his scrunched-up face.

"Really," she commented as she rolled off of her long black couch and walked into the kitchen. "Hey, pick me up a pack of smokes on your way. I'm on my last two."

_"...You'll pay me back, right? Those things are expensive, and you know how I feel about you using them."_

"When have I ever broken my word, Sammy?" she asked in a mock-wounded tone. "Don't make such _cruel_ accusations!"

_"...Uh-huh. I'll be over in half an hour. And don't call me Sammy."_

"See you soon," she sung, and hung up the phone, smirking. 'Brady' didn't even _know_ why he didn't like her. He could only tell that she wasn't human, and with no proof he couldn't tell Sam anything, because if he did Sam would wonder how he knew, what he'd seen, and if he didn't have a good reason _he_ would be revealed. They had a nice little contest going on.

After the first year Gemma had firmly decided she hated the crowded dorms, and had weasled enough money out of Balthazar to set herself up in a nice little townhouse. Finally she had _privacy_, room to herself, and she could entertain Sam- and occasionally Brady when the human brought him over- without her roommate barging in. Her roommate, an _insane_ woman by the name of Becky. Somehow the girl was human; she acted more like a damned Harpy.

Gemma got out the tub of Neapolitan ice cream and scooped a ridiculous- for anybody else- portion into a plain ceramic bowl. She liked the fancy cut-glass things Balthazar had in his manor, but ceramic was _mostly_ fire-proof. It wouldn't melt like glass would if she let loose and blew up the building. Which, unfortunately, had happened once before in a hotel in Rome. Her Angel had been pissed at her for a couple years for all the effort he had had to put into making sure that the 'incident' didn't attract attention.

She padded out of the kitchen and walked over to the wonderful invention called a radio/CD player. Music, on instant demand, that could be lowered or raised in volume at will? She _loved_ it.

Slipping in her favorite _Two Door Cinema Club_ CD, Gemma smiled as the familiar music started to play. Sam complained about her taste in music, but she usually shut him out by turning the volume higher. Gemma hummed in satisfaction as the strawberry/vanilla/chocolate flavors melted on her tongue, and mentally blessed the people who had invented electronics and ice cream.

Her ears picked up the sound of a key unlocking the door, and she turned, offering Sam a ice-cream-y grin as he stepped inside and had to duck his head to get under the arch of the door. "You have a tiny doorframe," he told her as he plopped down in one of the cushy chairs by her coffee table and swung his book-filled backpack onto said glass surface.

"You're just too tall," she stuck her tongue out, and paused the music before striding over and holding out her hand. "Give."

Sam rolled his eyes and dug into his pocket, pulling out her favorite brand of cigarettes and slapping them against her palm. "Now pay me back," he said sternly.

"Yeah, yeah, hang on," Gemma groused as she poked around her wallet and handed him a few ones and a five. "Prices are skyrocketing," she complained as she sagged back into the chair next to his and flicked open a custom matte-black lighter, using it to light the cigarette and then simply watched the tiny yellow flame dance as she inhaled and exhaled. "Honestly, how bad's Brady been?" she asked, rolling her head to the side and seeing that Sam had been looking at her curiously.

"Why are you so fascinated by fire?" he returned, and she froze.

Well, she wasn't sure why she was surprised. Sam could pick on things faster than any other human, she had learned; why he had even taken this long to ask that particular question actually shocked her. Smiling weakly, she snapped the lighter shut and dropped it into her pocket. "It's... pretty," she said lamely. "And dangerous."

By the slight narrowing of his eyes she could tell he knew she was lying, but luckily- bless him- he let it go. For now. She had no doubt he'd bring it up again some other time. "...Not good," he sighed in response to her first question, and flopped back his head to stare tiredly at the ceiling. "He's getting worse; using more drugs and I'm debating telling one of the councillors."

Gemma curled up in her chair, and quietly puffed on her cigarette. "You know that won't help," she mumbled out around it sympathetically. "He'd find some other way to get them if his sources were lost, and none of the supervisors will be able to understand why he's doing it."

"And you do?" Sam snarked, looking over at her.

"Do you?" she snapped back irritably. "Of course I don't. Brady's a piece of work, Sam; you know I don't like him and he feels the same about me." Gemma flipped open her lighter again, and the little flickering flame flared bright gold and blue for a split second before returning to normal.

"What was that?" her friend asked with widened eyes, and she forced a shrug.

"Don't know. A fluke with the gas, maybe?" she offered, and closed and restarted the flame. The color change didn't happen again, which she was grateful for. It had been awhile since she'd had a lapse in control, but it still happened sometimes when she got overly emotional. Unfortunately.

"...Yeah," Sam said slowly. "Probably."

_Damn_. Damn all overly-observant instinctually-predatorial Hunter-traits to Hell and back. Sam was like a brother to her- though she had never had one, so she assumed those were her feelings toward him because they _definitely_ weren't sexual- but sometimes he picked up on things a bit too easily. "So," she said to distract him. "Regale me with some tales of your grand college exploits before you have to buckle down and study."

The candle-sized flame danced above the lighter as Gemma watched its antics and listened to Sam as the human started to talk with a smile in his voice.

About an hour later Sam settled down, got out his laptop and books, and started to work. Gemma moved to the other side of the room, and simply listened to her music- though much quieter- and watched the miniature fire. She didn't need to study, not really; this wasn't her first time going to college and it likely wouldn't be the last. She already knew most, if not all, of the course material.

A few times Sam frowned slightly and dashed his eyes up to look at her before shaking his head and going back to typing. Idly she wondered what he was doing that involved watching her, but didn't really care. She _mostly_ trusted him, though it was impossible to entirely seeing as he didn't know about her being non-human. Besides, it wasn't like he could kill her even if he did decide she was a monster after he found out- because he would eventually, when someone doesn't age at all it tends to attract attention.

Even though iron hurt like a bitch. There _was_ a reason she only had stainless steel appliances and trappings in her house. It _stung_, burned her skin like holy water on a demon. Not a pleasant sensation by any means even though it healed rather quickly.


	4. Beginnings

**They refused my offer to buy it again... So no, I don't own Supernatural. Woe is me.**

Gemma stood against the counter in her kitchen, and smoked a cigarette. Sam was sleeping in the spare room- again- to avoid Brady, who had only gotten worse. Personally, she thought that the demon was just having what fun he could on Earth.

Her ears picked up the sound of a window unlocking and being forced open, and she slowly turned her head, narrowing her silver eyes in the half-darkness. The intruder's footsteps were soft in the darkness, and she rapidly stubbed out the ember on the counter.

A robber, perhaps? It was unfortunate Sam was staying with her almost constantly; if he hadn't been just in the other room she could have incinerated the trespasser in peace, but he was and the scream would wake him immediately.

She tucked her hair behind her ears, and waited until the intruder- a man, she realized- actually _opened the fridge_ before lunging and pinning him against the wall, catching a flash of shocked moss-green eyes landing on hers before the fridge fell shut and darkness eclipsed the room again.

"Who the fuck are you?" she hissed viciously, grunting when a muscled leg- quick and strong for a human- twisted between hers and forced back her knee, making them tumble to the ground. She absorbed the calculated punches and kicks, wincing slightly as the quickly-forming bruises healed almost instantly. She had to give him credit, though- she could barely land a strike on him even with her supernatural speed.

She was getting a bad feeling about this.

A quick twist had the stranger pinning her down, and she felt hot breath wash over her ear and a low, harsh voice growling- "I could ask the same of you."

Gemma curled upwards and wrapped her arms around his neck, yanking him into a hot, attention-grabbing kiss. Unsurprisingly he fell for it- _men;_ even Hunters could be distracted like this- and she _moved_ the second his legs weakened slightly to yank them both around and pin him underneath her, the kiss broken and one elbow warningly resting on his windpipe while the other arm grappled with his hands-

And then the light flickered on, and they froze, jerking their heads around to see Sam standing at the archway with a _shotgun_ of all things in his hands pointing at them both. Then he blinked, and blinked again a few seconds later. "Dean?" he asked, dumbfounded, and then looked at her. "_Gemma?"_

"Uh... hi, Sam?" she shrugged sheepishly, and scrambled upwards, straightening out her pajamas. "Didn't mean to wake you up, I was only having a cigarette when this guy _broke in_."

"You tackled me!" 'Dean' practically _shouted_ at her. "And then you _kissed_ me!"

"How else was I supposed to make you let go?!" Gemma replied- loudly- in turn. "It worked, didn't it?! And you were rummaging _in my fridge!"_

"Our fridge, Gemma, _our_ fridge." Sam interrupted tiredly. "You gave me the spare room permanently a week ago. We share the rent and everything."

"Quiet, Sam/Sammy," they barked at him in unison, and Gemma whipped her head around to glare daggers at 'Dean' only to see him doing the same to her.

A clearing throat quickly brought attention to the fact that they weren't alone. "Yes?" she hissed dangerously, cocking her head to the side sharply in irritation and staring up at her human friend.

Sam stared them both down until Gemma was shifting awkwardly and 'Dean' was mutinously burning his gaze into the floor. How did he _do_ that? Even Balthazar couldn't make her feel that guilty over something she was perfectly in her rights to do! And she was ten times their age, even if she didn't look it! "Dean, this is Gemma Fenix. My roommate. Gem, this is Dean Winchester. My brother."

Gemma huffed and pushed her now-messy hair out of her face as she turned on her heel and yanked open one of the kitchen drawers, pulling out a box of cigarettes and her lighter. She furiously jerked one out, lit it, and inhaled and exhaled one before gently sliding the drawer shut and turning to face them, hopping up onto the counter and swinging her feet back and forth.

Dean was eyeing her incredulously and suspiciously while Sam- oh, he just looked tired. "Well?" she snapped, popping the cigarette out of her mouth and twirling it in her fingers, and they jumped slightly. Damn paranoid hunters. "Sammy," she crooned, swiveling her head to the side and smiling saccharinely sweet. "How about you answer my question then, if you're _awake_ enough to do so. _Why_ did your _brother_- which you haven't ever told me about by the way- _break into my- our, dammit- flat at __**four in the fucking morning?! **_Does he not know how to use a phone? Call ahead? Bloody _knock?_"

Normally she wouldn't be so angry, but Balthy would have been _pissed_ if she'd accidentally killed one of the Vessels and drawn attention to them. Not to mention how Sam would get...

"Hey-" Dean started angrily, but Sam cut him off.

"Will you both _shut up?" _

Her jaw clicked shut, as did Dean's.

"Right," Sam said to himself, running a hand through his shaggy hair before turning to her. "I'm sorry for my brother, Gemma. Now, Dean," he turned to face his brother. "Why are you here?"

"But-"

"You can say it in front of her, Dean," Sam interrupted, moving over to stand beside her. She quirked her lips upwards in a tiny thanks for the trust, and he smiled slightly down at her. A stiff smile, not one of his natural ones; so perhaps he didn't really want to meet with his brother? Why would that be? Balthazar had never said _why_ they split up, only that they had... Hm.

Dean glared a bit more. "Dad hasn't been home in a few days," he finally gritted out, and Gemma perked up.

"So he's working overtime on a Miller Time shift. He'll stumble back in sooner or later," Sam told him dismissively.

The older brother- though that was odd seeing as Sam was so much taller- glanced down for a moment before looking up, this time with a touch of impatience. "Dad's on a hunting trip," he stressed. "And he hasn't been home in a few days."

Gemma saw Sam's face go _blank_ out of the corner of her eyes, and felt his muscles tense against her side as he stiffened and the air in the room became charged with tension. _Well_, then. A few seconds passed, and Sam swallowed before looking down at her. "Gemma, excuse us."

She flicked her gaze between them, and nodded curtly, watching as Sam led his brother out down the fire escape door- she had disabled the alarm minutes after renting the building- and tossed her a regretful look over his shoulder. She dipped her chin at him to show she didn't mind- much- and then strode into her bedroom and picked up her phone, going back over to the window overlooking the front of the building to watch the humans move out to a black car and open up the trunk, leaning over it.

Pressing the familiar number, she lifted the phone to her ear and waited. He answered barely into the second ring. _"What is it, love?"_ Balthazar drawled.

Her voice was flat when she replied. "Dean's come back for Sam. John is missing, apparently; Sam won't be able to resist. He's a soldier that's been idle for too long; he's getting restless."

There was silence for almost a minute. _"So... It's begun. I suspect that demon you told me about will be going after you soon to drive the ape back into the business for good to get revenge. Kill it and flee; you can keep an eye on them from a distance with one of my toys and help if you're absolutely needed."_

She nodded even though Balthazar couldn't see her. "Got it. Talk to you later."

Gemma leant against the doorframe to Sam's room, and caught the gleam of bright metal just as it disappeared into the satchel. "You're leaving, then?" she asked, staring over at him.

"Yeah," Sam jerked slightly at her voice, and looked up from packing to smile at her. It was fake. "Just a bit of family drama, I'll be back in time for the interview."

"Are you sure?"

He ducked his head again. "It'll only be a few days, we just need to find dad and take care of some stuff."

"Uh-huh..." Gemma said, letting a hint of disbelief color her tone. Then she stepped forward, and looked up at him. "You know I think of you like the older brother I never had, right?"

Sam's hazel eyes widened slightly, but he nodded jerkily.

"Then take care of yourself, you berk," she whacked him lightly on the arm, and gave him a stern glare before she turned and walked toward the door. He might have hugged her if she was someone else, but she knew he was aware of her aversion to touch so she was grateful that he didn't. "And Sam?" she added, not looking at him as he zipped the bag closed and moved toward the door. "Have fun hunting. You need to let loose a little. Just don't get too hurt."

She felt his eyes boring into the back of her skull as she moved into her room and closed the door behind her, but he didn't speak. She heard the door close, and then faintly the rumble of Dean Winchester's car as it drove away. He was gone, and Brady would come calling... Sunday, most likely. Right before Sam got back. He wouldn't know what had hit him.

Gemma sighed, and looked to the ceiling, praying half-heartedly to a God she knew had been absent for millenia.

_It's beginning, isn't it. Please, Lord, protect Balthazar. He means everything to me. And, if possible considering his role in the events to come, Sam. That boy doesn't deserve the pain he and his brother are going to be put through._

As expected, there wasn't a reply.


	5. Revelations

**Unfortunately I do not own Supernatural. I **_**do**_** own Gemma, though, and her influence on the plot I'm enjoying mangling. And I'm trying to keep all of the chapters at least as long as the first one, hopefully more, so they aren't **_**too**_** short.**

Gemma was typing in her last message to Sam when the doorbell rang. She stood from her chair and walked slowly, still rapidly keying in the words.

This would be her last contact with Sam unless the Winchesters were in a life-threatening situation that she could help with. She'd be getting a new phone after this, though she'd be keeping Sam's number just in case she needed to get in contact with him. Offer verbal reprimanding or support or something of the like.

Her things were already packed; she had started putting everything she couldn't replace away almost as soon as Sam had left, and simply waited until then, amusing herself with the golden-azure flames she would soon have full reign to use for _optimum_ destruction.

For the first time in years, she would be shedding her human skin, if only for a few moments. Too long and the sheer heat would incinerate more than just her/Sam's house. She wanted to _burn_, not leave no trace that the building had never existed.

"Hello, Brady," she said as she opened the door. "I was waiting for you to show. Aren't you cutting pretty close to the deadline?"

The blond leaning against the front railing blinked at her, and his eyes swirled into pitch demonic black. He smiled tauntingly, and she neutrally back. "Aren't you gonna let me in?" he asked, and strode past her. Quite rudely, actually.

And Gemma pressed the last period of the message, and then hit SEND.

Her ties were cut, for now at least.

Nothing to do now but clean up the loose ends and leave Sam a nice welcoming party.

"I'd prefer not to have demonic taint stinking up my house," she said as she walked into the living room and faced him. "But it'll be gone soon enough, cleansed along with the rest of the house. And _you_, 'Brady', will be a sweet little pile of ash in the slag."

'Brady' frowned at her, uncomprehending of his own oncoming demise. "What are you?" he growled. "I never could find out. But whatever it is, you'll die just like anything else."

"Wrong," Gemma's smile widened, and twisted into something else, something older and darker and crueller. "You can't kill me, _filth_. The only thing that could've has been lost for years, though I suspect the Winchesters may come across it in the future. It seems like something they might want."

"The Colt," 'Brady' muttered, understanding.

"That's the thing," she said cheerily, and flicked her lighter. This time she purposefully reached out to it, and the inch-tall candleflame sparked and roared up to a foot in height, flaring gold and bright, violent blue. "Now. Let's get this going. Sam'll be home in less than an hour, and I'd rather be long gone then."

"As would I," 'Brady' commented, eyes locked curiously on her fire. The fool still thought he could win? That would be his downfall.

Gemma twitched, and dropped the lighter. It didn't sputter out. The flames landed on the floor and caught, spreading rapidly across the wood and leaping up the walls. Firelight bathed the room in blue and gold, and her skin _boiled_, melting away to reveal tightly-compacted feathers in all the shades of red and yellow imaginable. The clothing covering her body curled away into only so much ash, and the chain around her neck melted, dropping the tiny amber pendant to the ground. They- the feathers- spread apart into wings that spanned the room- nigh on fifteen feet- and beat at the air, fanning the fire to tumultuous heights as the atmosphere heated to a temperature greater than the desert, making it ripple like a mirage.

Silver eyes blazed into the hottest blue, and then with a loud _screech_ the fire _exploded_, rushing outwards in a conflagration of heat and waves- nay, tsunamis- of rushing flame that suffused the entire house and turned it into a death trap none but the maker or a god could possibly survive.

'Brady' was frozen in shock and fear, so when she dipped her great, viciously curved beak and touched it to his head, he couldn't avoid the contact.

Fire spread underneath his meatsuit's skin, and turned him to ash inside-out. The black soul-smoke struggled out from ash-chapped lips, swirling around the room frantically after it escaped the now-destroyed body, but as soon as it touched the flames it too was destroyed, with a not-quite-mental scream of rage and agony.

Gemma fanned the blaze with her grand wings, and then forced herself down, inwards, to shrink until she was crouching stark naked on one knee in the middle of the fire. Her still-blue eyes found the necklace, and she tossed it- _hard_- towards the front porch where it landed outside the still partially-open door on the pavement, glimmering from the heat. Sam would find it, and recognize it. And, being the sentimental boy he was, would keep it.

_Balthazar,_ she prayed, and the Angel was at her side instantly. "It's done, then?" he drawled.

"The demon is gone, and I have effectively staged my death for anyone not the Winchester brothers. I sent Sam a text just before the demon arrived. It would be best if we left now, Balthy. The fire will bring firefighters, and Sam and Dean will be back soon. Very soon."

His hand, fire-warmed, landed on top of her head and curled into the freed strands of red-gold chestnut hair that gleamed in the bright, bright firelight. "Then let's go," Balthazar said. "I'd rather not be discovered so early in the game."

Gemma's lips quirked as the Angel's invisible wings flapped and the burning world around them disappeared just as a thick wooden beam crashed down through the ceiling. She had played her part, played it well in her opinion; now they only had to wait. Wait, and watch.

Could the Winchesters stop the coming Apocalypse? Could she and Balthazar steer them away from the shadows, or would she have to get involved personally? Either way neither of them were ready to watch the world be destroyed for 'paradise', as Lucifer apparently put it.

Sam's phone beeped, and he pulled it out. His brows furrowed slightly when he noticed it was from Gemma- what could she want? She knew that he'd be back soon... he opened it, and his eyes widened.

_This will be the last message from this phone, but know that I'm alive and safe. I know you're looking for the Yellow-Eyed demon, so I'm going to give you a little hint- his name is Azazel. He's a nasty old thing, not as ancient as Bal of course, but still older than most. You aren't the only one who lost one or more of their parents when they were six months old. But be wary, Sam. Be careful. He's coming back out of the shadows now that you and the others are grown, and Brady was a demon under orders to kill me to drive you back into Hunting. I'm not human either, as I'm sure you've guessed. The state of the house when you arrive might give you some clue as to my true species, because things aren't always what they look like, are they? I've left you my necklace- it's outside the house, somewhere near the sidewalk. Take care of it for me._

"Sam!" Dean barked, and Sam's head jerked up and around as the Impala rolled to a halt.

"What the-" he stared in horror at the townhouse, where he and Gemma had roomed together for the last year- two for her- and couldn't believe his eyes.

There were firetrucks outside, but the water the hoses were shooting out wasn't doing much good. There was just too _much_ of the vibrantly colored flames that were leaping all over the structure.

As yellow as pure gold and as blue as the ocean.

He had seen them before, multiple times when he or Brady had gotten Gemma emotional when her lighter was out. It had flared those exact same colors, brighter than it should've, and he had done his research but hadn't known what she was. Couldn't find out; there hadn't been enough clues.

Sam scrambled out of the car and dashed across the street, slipping through the yellow-clad groups to the water-soaked ground in front of the house, his eyes searching, searching- _there it was_. He picked up the amber pendant that she had always worn, never- as far as he knew- taken off, that was in the shape of an abstract flame. It was warm on his skin, like it too had been in the fire only minutes ago, and glimmered warmly in the flickering light.

And then something by the door caught his attention.

It was burning just like everything else, so it didn't stand out, but as the firefighters forcefully pushed him back away from the danger- because the air was hot, hotter than any fire had a right to make it- he could have _sworn_, just before it fell apart, that it looked like a _feather_. A feather as long as the length from his fingertips to his elbow, and gleaming red-gold.

An epiphany struck him, and Sam collapsed back against Dean when his brother hauled him back to the car. He loosened his iron-tight grip on the crystallized sap, and held it up to Dean. "It's hers," he croaked, and shot his eyes back down to the phone, back to the last line-

_See you 'round, Sammy._

He blindly shoved the phone at Dean, and pushed himself up from the cement, brushing himself off. "It was so freaking' _obvious_ now that I think about it," he muttered to himself, pacing by the car. "How did I miss it?"

"Sammy, what're you talking about?" Dean called, and then his face darkened as he ran through the rest of Gemma's last words. "Sammy, what the hell is going on?!"

"She's a _phoenix_, Dean!" Sam almost yelled, catching himself just in time so that they wouldn't catch the attention of the onlookers. "Her last name. 'Fenix' is a variant of 'phoenix'. The way she was always smoking or playing with her lighter. That fire- it's the same stuff that came out of her lighter when she got angry or excited. And she _never aged_. I didn't notice at first, but now that I think back- oh, I am an _idiot!"_

"Hey- hey, Sam, calm down. You couldn't have known, she was hiding, right?" Dean grabbed his shoulders, and forced him to stay still. "I don't know what her motivation is, or who she's working for-"

"His name is Bal," Sam said distractedly, his eyes fixed on the burning house over his brother's head. "Sometimes she called him 'Balthy', but never said a full name."

"Alright, we have half a name for her boss. But we also have _its_ name, don't we? Yellow-Eyes'? Mom's killer's? Whatever's coming, we'll do our research and we'll be ready. We'll have to be," Dean told him determinedly, and Sam focused on his brother, nodding slowly.

"We'll be ready," he repeated. "We'll be ready." _We have to be._


End file.
